


I'm Feeling Badly, It's Not An Attempt At Decency

by annemari



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Partial amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annemari/pseuds/annemari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey enjoys being the lead singer of Asthma. It's a good time, and people like them and his bandmates are pretty cool. But everything changes when Silver Skull finds them. Now they're on the run and Mikey has no idea where to go. He ends up staying at his buddy Ray's place. Ray's fucking great, and he probably won't kick Mikey out. Things would be pretty good, if only Mikey could stop being such an asshole. And why the fuck does Ray keep insisting that Mikey has a brother?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Feeling Badly, It's Not An Attempt At Decency

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by _The Aquabats! Super Show!_ , episode 2x05 "The AntiBats!". The AntiBats weren't given names in the episode so I came up with my own.
> 
> Thank you so much to **anoneknewmoose** for being a fantastic beta!  <333 Title from Rilo Kiley's "The Execution Of All Things".

"Five minutes, guys," Sam says. The organizer whispers something to her and she frowns. "Ten minutes. Whatever. We're gonna win this thing."

Mikey nods at her, and turns back to his conversation with Dave.

"We've got this in the bag," Dave says.

"We better," Mikey says, looking around backstage and listening to the crowd starting to chant their name, or try to. They may be big in the local scene, but the judges aren't local—they're some sort of superheroes. Fucking weird.

"Relax, boss," Dave says. "We'll get that prize money."

Mikey breathes in deep and cracks his neck. Seven hundred and fifty dollars, divided into four. He wishes it was more, but it'll at least help him pay rent this month. He can't help but think that if they were a bigger band he wouldn't _need_ to pay rent. They would just go on tour and not come back for months. Maybe years. But it is what it is, and all the other guys have their own places and not enough room for him to crash. So. He really needs that money.

"Hey, hey, guys," the organizer says, sidling up to them. "You good? Ready?"

"Ready to win," Mikey says, straightening up and narrowing his eyes. He fights the urge to go check his hair one more time. It's holding up fine, and he's more than ready to step onstage and become the lead singer of a fucking thrash metal band. Of his band. It's go time.

"That's great, that's great," organizer says, laughing nervously. "Yay, winning. It'll just be a few minutes more, okay. I mean—hey, it's not always about winning, is it?"

Mikey raises his eyebrows and Dave steps forward, folding his arms over his chest.

"Ah," organizer says. "Well, in that case, good luck."

Mikey gives him a nod—hopefully polite enough, he doesn't actually want to piss off the fucking organizer—and the guy scurries off.

"I didn't know you were that hung-up on trophies, Way," someone says. It's SkillSawz, walking up to them. He doesn't seem taunting, and even though Mikey's not really into his style he usually tries to respect competition.

Mikey looks over and sees that Jeff and Sam have noticed and are walking closer. "We're not," Mikey tells SkillSawz. "We know we're the best. But we need the money."

SkillSawz furrows his brow at them. "Okay, you guys, I get," he tells the others. "I guess. But you, Way. Isn't your brother like a hotshot in comics?" Mikey freezes, but SkillSawz keeps going. "I heard there's some money in that when you're near the top."

Mikey swallows hard. "I don't like living off family," and _fuck_ , his voice almost falters on the last word. Fucking SkillSawz, what the fuck?

Sam steps forward then and says, "We have to get ready now." She raises her eyebrows at SkillSawz and he gets the picture enough to nod and walk away.

Mikey turns away and takes a couple of deep breaths. Great, the last thing he needed before an important show—someone bringing up _Gerard_. Someone implying that he should ask Gerard for money.

He tries to figure out how long it's been since they saw each other—more like "when's the last time they were in the same place and avoided each other". Probably last Thanksgiving. At least Gerard went back to NYC before the weekend was over and Mikey came back here. And that was just fucking that. They don't need each other. And Mikey definitely doesn't need Gerard to help him out.

"You ready, boss?" Jeff asks.

"Yeah," Mikey says, wrapping his arms briefly around himself and squeezing. His stomach hurts. Probably just stage fright.

"Let's go then," Jeff says and hands him his guitar. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," he hears the announcer call. "Here is...Asthma!"

Mikey takes a breath and follows his band onstage.

~

The show is weird. What happens after is even weirder.

They're all really pissed off, both his band and SkillSawz as well. Mikey can't help it, he grabs a beer can and throws it at the Aquabats' van. It bounces off it, not even breaking or anything, and Mikey growls. Fucking Aquabats. They were the judges, they're the reason Mikey and his band are currently out of 750 dollars that _should_ have been theirs.

And then a scary dude shows up in a literal puff of smoke and promises them victory and revenge. Jeff calls him a dark lord, which Mikey honestly thinks is fitting, but then the guy introduces himself as Silver Skull. Dark Lord sounds a bit better, but Mikey's not going to argue with this dude.

He's not sure about the whole "united in hatred" thing, though, especially because it includes SkillSawz. Mikey has a _band_. They're a band and they know each other and what's the point of adding someone to their group? The prize money should have been theirs anyway.

But before they get the chance to discuss that amongst themselves or anything there's a bright light and suddenly they're all wearing fucking spandex suits.

Silver Skull has become their leader, their Master, and he dubs them the AntiBats. Mikey wonders if they could have kept their band name, but there's no point in arguing, of course. One minute they're Asthma and the next minute they're not and everything's different.

When Mikey tries to remember later what it felt like when they all got "turned evil", or whatever the fuck happened, all he can recall is a flash of power, and rage, and the kind of cold that feels hot to the touch.

He also vaguely remembers the rush of excitement that came with it. But that doesn't last.

They manage to get the silver box the Master asked for from the Aquabats and they're on their way back with it when Mikey actually stops and thinks, "What the fuck?" But they've got a mission to complete, and they're on top of it, so really, it could be worse.

Then it does get worse, because they somehow fucked something up, and the Master yells at them and there's this part of Mikey's brain that just keeps repeating, "What the actual fuck?"

But he won't say no to the chance to beat up the Aquabats again, and the others are clearly game as well—and none of them want to disobey the Master. Who the fuck knows what would happen? Besides, those are the orders. So they go.

They go and they fight the Aquabats and Mikey can't really find any _point_ to this besides, "Someone said we should do it, so why not?" and soon they're not even winning anymore. They're being overpowered and there is a _flying drum kit_ in the sky that's shooting lasers and literally nothing makes sense anymore.

It's Jeff who finally yells out, "Fuck this, let's get the fuck out of here", and they motor. Mikey doesn't stop to look back to see what happens.

~

"Holy shit," Sam says from the driver's seat. "Holy _shit_."

Mikey leans his head against the front seat and quietly agrees. Holy fucking shit.

"Is anyone hurt?" Jeff asks and twists around to look at them.

Mikey looks himself over and joins the chorus of nos.

"A fucking miracle," Jeff says.

"Where are we going?" Mikey asks.

"I don't know," Sam says. "Away."

"Do you think we're wanted now?" SkillSawz asks.

"Shit," Mikey says. "What if we are?" He has no idea what they're going to do now.

"I think we should lay low for a while," Sam says. "They probably want the Master more than us, right?"

"Probably," Dave says. "We should switch back to our van."

"We left the van at the Master's," Sam reminds him.

"We're not going back there," Jeff says.

"Where can we go, looking like this?" Dave asks.

"Oh, I grabbed all of our bags," Jeff says. "They should be somewhere in the back."

Mikey and Dave exchange glances, then look at the backseat and wherever the trunk area of this metal contraption should be.

"Uh, where?" Dave asks.

"Under the seats, I think."

"Wow," Mikey says, when he actually finds Dave's bag and tosses it his way, then finds his. "Great work, Jeff." He opens the bag and finds that his stage clothes, phone and wallet are all in there. It sucks that they have to leave the instruments to sit near someone's evil lair, though.

"So," Sam says. "What the fuck are we gonna do? Because no offense, but I think we should split up for a bit. Go into hiding."

"At least Mikey should," Dave says.

"Why me?" Mikey asks, frowning.

"You're the leader," SkillSawz says. "Our leader. Technically. You're probably more wanted."

Mikey swallows hard, trying to push down the anger. "Fuck you, I'm not."

"You kind of are, boss," Jeff says, turning to look back at him. "I'm not saying we're going to ditch you or anything. I'm just saying."

Mikey leans back against the seat and sighs, crossing his arms. "Whatever. Where the fuck are we now?" He gets that they should probably hide—though, wait, they all have fucking _masks_. How easy would it be to find them anyway?

"We have masks," he says, interrupting whatever Jeff was saying. "They won't find us."

"They won't if we split up," Jeff says. "But I should probably shave this." He looks down at his beard and Mikey should feel sorry for him—he's been growing that for so long—but he just doesn't care.

"We're somewhere in Wayne," Sam says. "I think we should try to ditch the car. No one is following us yet."

"Wait, we're where?" Mikey asks. "Shit, can you drop me off somewhere?" Sam gives him a skeptical look in the mirror and he scowls. "You said I should probably hide, and you clearly don't want me to hang around," he says. "So can you fucking drop me off?"

"Chill," Jeff says. "We're evil now. Not mean."

"Is there a difference?" SkillSawz asks, and Mikey finds himself agreeing. 

Still, he sighs and says, "Sorry." When no one else speaks up he repeats again, "So can you drop me off? I know a guy."

"You always know a guy," Dave says.

Mikey can't argue with that. This time it's different, though.

"Ray Toro lives around here," Mikey says. "I can probably crash with him."

Sam's face clears and she nods at him. "Okay then. Good luck, boss."

~

Ten minutes later Mikey's standing in front of Ray's door, hoping that Ray's home and not at a show.

The others dropped him off and left without stopping to say hi. Mikey doesn't really blame them; the car alone got a lot of eyebrow raises, not to mention their costumes. Mikey managed to get into the apartment building when an elderly couple left, and he can still feel the weight of their stares. He should be used to that, being in a thrash metal band, but apparently skintight evil spandex suit garners a whole other type of glare.

"Come on," Mikey says, and rings the doorbell again. "Come the fuck on, Ray."

He's about to start pounding on the door when Ray opens it. Mikey doesn't waste any time in pushing himself into the apartment.

"Uh," Ray says. "What the hell?"

Mikey looks at Ray's scared expression, and belatedly remembers to take off his mask.

"Jesus," Ray says. "Shit, Mikey, you scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry," Mikey says. He kind of feels it, too. Upsetting Ray is like making a puppy sad. "Uh, listen—"

"What's that?" Ray asks, pointing to his costume. "Some sort of Aquabats cosplay?"

Mikey scowls at Ray. "No. I'm evil now."

"What?" Ray asks, raising his eyebrows, obviously amused.

"Evil," Mikey says, pointing to the mark on his chest. "Me and my band, we're the AntiBats."

"Right," Ray says, drawing it out. "Like. LARPing?"

Mikey grits his teeth. Of course Ray doesn't fucking believe him. "No," he says. "It's not LARPing. We're evil."

Ray frowns. "Why are you growling at me?"

"I'm not fucking growling."

Ray takes a step back. "You kind of are dude." He looks scared again. It makes Mikey feel weird inside.

"I don't mean to?" he tries.

Ray shakes his head. "You kind of sound like Batman," he says. "So, you know. What the fuck?"

Mikey huffs, but Ray probably deserves a better explanation than just this. "Me and my band. There was this dude, and he zapped us with this ray or something, and then we kind of did his evil bidding. So. We're evil."

"He zapped you with a ray?"

"Well, yeah." Mikey indicates at his costume. "Did you think I bought this myself?"

"No?" Ray asks, slowly running his eyes over Mikey's body. "Not really—um."

Ray quickly looks up and away. Mikey has to fight the urge to cover his crotch with his hands. He tugs at his hair instead. Fuck, it's a mess from being covered with the mask. There's still some product in it from the 'hawk, too. He frowns and combs it back. Ray's finally looking at him again.

"Look," Mikey says, trying to get his voice to sound apologetic. "We're kind of on the run, I think? And I need a favor." Ray's frowning again, looking concerned, and Mikey blurts out, "Can I crash here for a bit?"

"Oh," Ray's face clears. "Yeah, sure. I thought you were gonna ask me to rob a bank." He laughs, but stops when Mikey doesn't join him. "Shit, you're not actually going to rob a bank, are you?"

Mikey sighs and crosses his arms. Everything feels really weird and fucked up right now. "I don't know," he says.

"Come on, Mikey," Ray says. "What the hell actually happened?"

Mikey takes a deep breath, but before he gets the chance to answer a dog runs into the room and starts barking at him. He frowns down at it. "You got a dog?"

"Yeah," Ray says, kneeling down. "Bruce, come here boy. Leave Mikey alone."

Bruce growls, but turns and runs into Ray's arms. Ray picks him up and cuddles him. "He's usually really nice to strangers," Ray says, frowning. Mikey swallows hard. Something's making him feel sick. Maybe whatever he had for breakfast. Or maybe it's the fact that he hasn't eaten since this morning. He doesn't know.

"Hey," Ray says. He puts Bruce back down—who throws one last look at Mikey and then runs off in the direction of the kitchen, if Mikey remembers right—and gets up, taking Mikey's elbow. "Sit down."

Mikey lets Ray pull him down to the couch. He kicks his boots off and pulls his knees up, wrapping his arms around his legs and trying to calm his breathing. The spandex feels weird around his body. He wants to get it off as soon as he can.

"Just tell me what happened," Ray says. Mikey leans his chin on his knees and does.

Ray doesn't interrupt him, doesn't say anything even after Mikey's finished. Mikey swallows against the dryness in his throat and turns his head to look at him.

Ray looks kind of shocked. Disappointed, maybe.

"What?" Mikey asks, eyes narrowing.

"You did all that because you lost a contest?" Ray asks, voice quiet.

"No!" Mikey exclaims, unfolding and turning towards Ray on the couch. "The Master told us to."

"But—but why?"

"Do I look like I fucking know?"

Ray sighs. "Okay, fine. But why did 'the master' choose you guys? And what did he actually _do_ to you?"

Mikey shrugs. "He said he gave us the power of pure Armageddon."

Ray looks alarmed. "Are you going to destroy the world?"

"No," Mikey says slowly. "I don't think so. It doesn't feel like that."

"What does it feel like?"

Mikey scratches at his forearm. The fucking suit itches. He's not really sure how to explain it to Ray. He's not sure he understands it himself, and he honestly doesn't really _care_. But even if he got it, he wouldn't want Ray to know. Ray's better than that.

"Okay," Ray says after a while. "You don't have to tell me." He pauses. "So did this guy choose you because you were there? Or, like, do you show a lot of evil promise? Or for your skills or whatever?"

"No," Mikey says slowly. "I think he said we were full of hate."

"Well," Ray frowns. "Maybe _then_. But not all the time. Mikey." He reaches out, but Mikey shrugs his hand away.

"Whatever," he says, squeezing his hands into fists. "No one died. We just beat up a couple of dudes—not even that _bad_ —and then things went to shit, so we left." He's not sure what the Master's going to do about that if he finds them, but Mikey doesn't care. They outnumber him if it comes to that.

"Okay," Ray says. "And you're not gonna go back, right? To, uh, your master or whatever? You're done now."

Mikey shrugs. "We're on the run, I guess, and, like, hiding. He probably doesn't want our help since we kind of bailed on him."

"And even if he does you're not gonna go help, right?" Ray asks. "Because you don't have to. You know that, right?" Mikey flicks his gaze towards Ray. He looks really earnest, his eyes wide. The expression seems familiar to Mikey. Ray's hair is also doing that thing where it takes on his mood, looking kind of wild and yet droopy—concerned.

"Yeah," Mikey says. "Yeah, I know that."

"Good," Ray says, leaning back. "Okay."

Mikey breathes out and rubs at his forehead. He's getting a headache, and his stomach still feels weird. He's tired, and he wants to ask Ray where he's going to be sleeping, but Ray interrupts him.

"Dude, I know you probably don't want me to bring this up, but—I'm seriously wondering how your brother would react to this."

Mikey frowns. "What?"

"I mean like—" Ray shrugs and waves his hand. "Fucking comic book villains and _you_."

"No, I mean what brother?"

Ray sighs. "Look, I know that you're not talking, but—"

"Ray," Mikey bites out. "What. Brother."

Ray looks taken aback now, which isn't Mikey's fucking problem. He's the one who's not making any sense. "Gerard," Ray says slowly. "Your brother Gerard?"

Mikey blinks at him. "I don't have a brother, dude."

Ray smiles at him, confused, like he thinks Mikey's joking. "Dude, what?"

"What do you mean what?" Mikey asks, scowling.

"Oh, come on," Ray says. "Gerard. I know shit went bad or whatever, but you guys were inseparable. Your older brother, lives in New York, writes comic books. _That_ Gerard."

"I don't know who you're talking about."

Ray rolls his eyes. "This isn't funny," he says. Mikey could say the same thing. "If you don't want to talk about him then just say so."

Mikey feels like screaming. "Ray. I'm not fucking kidding, okay."

"You're telling me you don't remember Gerard?" Ray asks. "You guys were the tightest brothers I've seen, man, way closer than I am with mine. Look, maybe we should call him or something. I know you're not talking, but I'm sure he'd want to know what's going on with his little brother."

"Stop," Mikey says, and jumps up from the couch. "I swear to god, Ray, if you don't stop I'll fucking leave." He realizes belatedly that that's probably not much of a threat—he's the one asking for a place to crash. But whatever; Ray's not making any sense and it's freaking Mikey out, even more so than anything else that happened in the past two days.

Ray raises his hands, placating, and says, "Okay, okay. I'll stop."

Mikey takes a couple of deep breaths, holding his hands to his stomach. This is too fucking surreal. Mikey never had a brother; Ray's totally messing with him. It doesn't matter. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"Mikey?" Ray asks, sounding hesitant. "You okay? I'm sorry."

"No," Mikey says. "I'm fine, don't worry about it." He opens his eyes but looks down, avoiding Ray's gaze. He squeezes his hands into fists, and breathes in deep. He doesn't have a brother. Ray's messing with him. It doesn't matter. "So I can stay, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Ray says. "I mean, I don't have an extra room, but you can take the couch."

"Sure," Mikey says. "Whatever."

"Okay," Ray says, and gets up. "Let's get it ready, you look pretty tired." They pull the bed out of the couch, and Mikey looks at it, thinking. It sort of calms him; he's not exactly sure why.

"I think I stayed on your couch once," he says.

"Probably," Ray says, smiling. "Maybe after a show?"

"Yeah," Mikey agrees. It feels like ages ago—Ray had just moved in. Mikey doesn't really remember much from it, but it's still a nice thought. And Ray's letting him stay here again, which is pretty generous of him. "Thanks," Mikey says.

"No problem. Uh, are you going to sleep in that?"

Mikey looks down at the suit. "I have my stage clothes in my bag."

"I can lend you a t-shirt or something," Ray says. "If you want."

"Sure," Mikey says, and yawns. Fuck, he's totally beat.

Ray smiles at him. "I'll go get it."

Mikey changes in the bathroom. Ray's shirt is too big on him and a bit scratchy, but it still feels nice after the skintight suit. He doesn't look at himself in the mirror. He knows he probably looks awful, but he doesn't care, he's too fucking tired.

"I got you a pillow and some old sheets," Ray says when Mikey walks into the living room. "Sorry, I don't think they've been washed in a while."

Mikey shrugs. "It's fine." He stuffs the suit and mask in his bag, and checks his phone. No missed calls or texts. He considers it, then puts it back in the bag.

"Do you need anything else?" Ray asks.

"Nope," Mikey says, and goes to sit on the bed. Ray has stacked two pillows on one side and made the bed with the sheets and a blanket. It makes Mikey feel warmer inside. Now that he thinks about it, he's kind of cold. Like, really cold.

"Okay, if you don't want anything else then I'm gonna go," Ray says.

"Yeah," Mikey says, looking up at him. "Thanks, Ray."

"Uh," Ray says. "Sure. Yeah. Sleep well, okay."

"Yeah," Mikey says again. He curls up on the couch and pulls the covers over him. He's asleep before he hears Ray leave.

~

The next day doesn't start well. Ray wakes him up at the ass-crack of dawn for breakfast, Bruce growls at him whenever Mikey goes anywhere near him, and then it turns out that Ray is out of coffee.

"How the _fuck_ can you be out of coffee?" Mikey complains. "I smelled coffee. I fucking did, you're lying."

"I'm not lying," Ray sighs. "I had enough for one cup, which I had before I made waffles for your sorry ass. Now I'm out."

"You didn't leave any for me?" Mikey asks, growing more irritated by the second. What the fuck?

"I didn't have any more," Ray says. "I'm sorry, dude. But there's a Starbucks close by, okay?" He works a waffle loose from the iron and pulls it onto the plate.

"Why the fuck did you even wake me up?" Mikey asks.

"Because I thought you'd want these while they were still hot."

"But there's no fucking coffee," Mikey bites out.

Ray pauses and frowns. "You're growling at me again."

Mikey sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. "I wasn't."

"You were, dude," Ray says. "It's kind of fucked up." He stacks another waffle on the plate and pushes it plate towards Mikey.

"I need coffee before I eat those," Mikey says.

Ray's face really clouds over now, and he drops the spatula. "Fine. Whatever."

"No," Mikey says. Fuck, what is it with Ray and his ability to make Mikey feel guilty about this shit? "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a dick."

"Yeah," Ray says. "I know. You're fucking evil now. Whatever."

"No, it's not that," Mikey says. "I mean I really—really fucking need coffee before I eat anything, you know? I'm sorry. The waffles look great."

Ray looks at him, and Mikey fights the urge to shrink back in his chair. He's angry and all but he still doesn't actually _want_ to hurt Ray.

Ray sighs. "Starbucks is honestly only five minutes away. If you hurry they'll still be warm when you get back."

Mikey frowns. "Do I have to shower?"

Ray cracks a small smile and something deep inside Mikey's belly feels a little lighter. Just a little. "No," Ray says. "You don't have to shower. Just put on pants."

~ 

Mikey quickly changes into his stage clothes—thankfully they don't really stand out or anything. He stops at the bathroom mirror this time and—well, he's looked worse. His eye makeup is smudged to fuck and his hair's a mess and his whole face has that pre-coffee look, but it could be worse.

He's almost out the door when he remembers. "Do you want me to get you anything?" Bruce is jumping around like he's waiting for Mikey to take him outside, which is weird, since he seems to hate Mikey's guts. "Ray?"

"A grande green tea frapp," Ray calls from the kitchen. "Thanks."

"Got it," Mikey says, and gently pushes Bruce out of the way and closes the door after him.

There's a line at Starbucks because of course there is, but it doesn't take that long. Mikey sips at his coffee on the way back, and the waffles _are_ still warm when he gets back to Ray's.

Four waffles later and he's feeling marginally better about the world. (It's not like he wanted to destroy it before or anything, but still.)

Ray leaves for work, leaving Mikey and Bruce on their own. Mikey considers going to the grocery store to buy coffee, but the couch is comfortable and Bruce isn't bugging him and it's probably cold outside. He finds a Star Trek marathon on TV and settles in.

He's startled awake later when someone sits down on the couch near his legs.

He grumbles and pulls his knees to his chest. "What the fuck?"

"Sorry," Ray says. "I'm on my lunch break, and I figured you'd want to see this."

Mikey grudgingly sits up and pushes hair out of his face. "What?"

"This." Ray hands him a newspaper, face carefully neutral.

There's a picture of the fight between them and the Aquabats on page four.

"Fuck," Mikey says. " _Fuck_." He clutches the newspaper and stares at his own face looking back at him. They're all there, and Mikey's not in the middle of the shot, at least, and it's not totally zoomed in or anything, but they're in the fucking _news_. Fuck. Things are so fucked up. "What the fuck am I gonna do?"

He quickly skims the article. It pretty much has everything that happened covered. It even mentions the band contest, but not the evil ray, of course. Fucking hell, like they could look any worse, now it seems like they're just sore losers to boot.

"Hopefully no one recognizes you?" Ray asks. "I mean, it's not like your faces are on wanted posters, at least."

"This isn't fucking Batman," Mikey says. "People will see it's me." He remembers thinking, oh, well, at least they have _masks_. Fucking hell.

Ray shrugs. "At least it's a small picture. I doubt they will."

"But what if they do?" Mikey asks, squeezing his hands into fists. "Do you even fucking care?"

Ray looks at him, surprised. "Of course I care," he says. "I just don't think they'll recognize you. And it doesn't say that the police are looking for you or anything."

Mikey breathes out harshly and gets up. "Then why did you even bring it to me, if you don't think it's a big deal?"

"I just thought you wanted to see it," Ray says. "I didn't want to keep it from you or anything. Mikey."

"I need a drink," Mikey says, heading to the kitchen. "I need—coffee. Fucking hell, Ray, do we still not have any coffee?" He raises his voice, he can't help it. Fuck everything. "Ray?"

"It's in that bag," Ray says, and Mikey whips around to look at him. He's standing at the door to the kitchen, face set. "On the table."

Mikey looks to the side. "Oh." He doesn't say thanks. Why the fuck can't he say thanks? He's sure he managed to do that yesterday.

"I'm going back to work," Ray says. "If you wanna talk about it more then we can do that later, okay? Don't freak out yet."

Mikey scowls. "I'm not—fuck you."

Ray shakes his head. "Whatever." He turns and leaves, only saying goodbye to Bruce. Mikey stands in the kitchen, feeling lost and angry and just fucking—twitchy. He goes for the coffee and tries to make himself some, then drops it on the counter when he can't figure out Ray's coffee machine. Some of the coffee spills out and down to the floor. Fuck it all.

He kicks at the counter, then stalks back to the living room and picks up the newspaper. There it is, his fucking face. It's a shot from the fight, right before they ran. His failure, him being fucked up, for everyone to see. Fucking great. He rips the article out and crumples it up, throwing it to the ground. Bruce jumps at it and enthusiastically rips it into pieces, growling happily. Mikey grabs the whole newspaper and throws it at the TV; it falls to the ground and Bruce goes at it as well.

Mikey covers his face with his hands and yells, the sound muffled against his palms. He doesn't know what the fuck to do. He doesn't know where to go when Ray kicks him out, and he doesn't know how to stop being a total asshole to Ray.

He screams again, then wipes at his eyes and looks around the living room. The floor is covered with newspaper shreds. Bruce has grown bored and is lying by the kitchen door again. The kitchen, fuck. There's coffee grounds everywhere, and there are dirty plates in the sink.

Mikey breathes in deep and tries to calm down. It doesn't really work, and he _doesn't know what to do_. His eyes fall on the scattered pieces of newspaper. He crouches down and starts to clean.

~

"What the fuck happened?" Ray asks.

Mikey looks around the apartment. "What?"

"It's clean," Ray says. "You—where—what?"

Mikey blinks. "I sort of couldn't stop."

Ray stares at him. "What?"

"I kind of messed it up," Mikey says. "And then I started cleaning."

"And you couldn't stop," Ray says slowly. "Is this...like a side-effect or something?"

Mikey shrugs. "I don't think so?" He cleaned up his mess and then he went over the kitchen and then he cleaned up all of Bruce's toys and then found Ray's vacuum and kind of vacuumed all the rooms. "It was calming." It warmed him up a bit, too. Ray's apartment is really cold.

"Oh," Ray says. He drops his bag and walks around the place. "Well, that's good. I guess?"

Mikey shrugs again, and crosses his arms. "It was—whatever."

"No," Ray says. "No, sorry, I didn't mean to—I was just surprised, you know? But, uh, thanks."

"Whatever," Mikey says again. "I'm—yeah. I was kind of a dick earlier, so."

"It's fine," Ray says, and walks over to him. "But this was really nice of you."

Mikey frowns. He's not sure if it was; it's just that once he started, the cleaning felt good. He didn't have to think or worry. He wasn't really doing it for _Ray_. "Sure," he says.

Ray touches his elbow and Mikey flinches. "Sorry," Ray says. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay," Mikey says. It was just unexpected.

"So, uh," Ray says. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I don't know," Mikey says. "You pick?"

Ray smiles at him. "Come on."

They end up having pasta with chicken. Mikey eats most of it; Bruce barks at him, but Ray says they shouldn't feed him from the table. Then he drops a piece of chicken to the ground. Mikey raises his eyebrow, and Ray shrugs. Mikey glares down at Bruce. Bruce glares back, as much as a dog can glare. It's kind of comforting, to know where you stand.

"Hey, Mikey," Ray says, when they're cleaning up. "You know you can stay here, right? I'm not kicking you out or anything, no matter what it says in the fucking paper."

Mikey blinks. He's not sure he believes it, but Ray's not usually the type of guy who lies. Mikey cleans up his plate and sticks it in the dishwasher. "Thanks," he says. It doesn't sound exactly right, but Ray doesn't seem to notice.

~

A couple of days pass. Ray goes to work while Mikey stays in, tries to make lunch and dinner for them and attempts to walk Bruce when he lets him. He never goes far from the building, though, afraid that someone might recognize him. 

He steals Ray's old t-shirts when his own starts to bug him, and Ray lends him a pair of sweatpants after he eats too many waffles for breakfast and complains of his jeans being too tight. He's still cold, but nothing really seems to help with that. It's not too bad. It's better than it could be, he figures.

On Friday morning Ray greets him with a bigger smile than usual and pushes coffee and a plate of pancakes towards him.

"What, no waffles?" Mikey asks.

Ray shrugs. "I couldn't sleep, wanted something different."

Mikey frowns. He hasn't had any problem sleeping himself—in fact, he only wakes when Ray comes to wake him. Maybe he's messing with Ray's sleeping schedule or something. He knows Ray said he wouldn't kick him out, but who the fuck knows.

"Hey," Ray says. "Mikey, dude, stop scowling."

Mikey lifts his gaze, but no, Ray's still smiling at him.

"Are you trying to set my pancakes on fire?" Ray asks. "I think they're done already."

Mikey shrugs and looks away. "Why are you so cheery this morning?"

"We have a show tonight," Ray says. "My band. And you're coming."

Mikey looks up, eyes widening. "I can't."

"No one will put the two together, Mikey," Ray says. "Most people probably don't even remember it happened. Chill."

Mikey shakes his head. "But what if—something. I don't know."

"Look, if someone had recognized you, don't you think they would have called you or texted you or something?"

Mikey looks back at the living room, where his phone is sitting in his bag. No one's called. And he's had that number for years, so people still know where to reach him if they need to.

"Come on," Ray says. "Please? It'd be really great if you could come."

Mikey hunches over and picks at the edge of a pancake. "You're just trying to get me out of the apartment."

"Maybe," Ray says. "But I really do want you to come."

Mikey looks up. Ray's still fucking _smiling_ at him. He sighs. "Fine."

~

The show is at a club Mikey's been to—has _played_ at before. He's a little suspicious; a part of him is waiting for someone to just come up to him and be like, "Hey, aren't you the leader of the AntiBats?"

But everyone who does recognize him just wants to talk about music and ask him if he's doing anything with the band. He sees Frank from Death Spells near the stage door and heads over.

Mikey's wearing his stage clothes—he even washed his t-shirt. He didn't bother with doing his hair up, but he tried to style it at least a little bit, so it wouldn't hang down limp around his temples. He _did_ do his eyes, if just to hide the bags under them.

"Mikey Way!" Frank calls out and pulls him into a hug. Mikey stiffens but doesn't pull away, realizing suddenly that Ray hasn't tried to hug him once while he's been here. Out of all the dudes Mikey knows Ray comes second after Frank on the list of "always willing to hug people".

He doesn't expect that to throw him, but it does.

"Hey," Frank says, and pokes him in the chest. "Earth to Mikey. You okay, dude?"

Mikey steps back and shakes his head. "Yeah, I'm fine. What's up?"

Frank's looking at him funny, but he's still smiling.

"Not much, you know," he says, then breaks out into an even wider smile. "I'm gonna be a dad."

"Shit, really?" Mikey blinks. Frank's younger than him, but he's been with Jamia for, like, forever. They're sweet. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," Frank beams. "It's still, you know—" He waves his hand. "Early stages? Not that early, it'll just be a bit still, but fuck, man. You know?"

Mikey nods, even though he really doesn't. But Frank seems happy, which is good.

"But what about you, dude?" Frank asks. "You good? I haven't heard from you in a while."

Mikey nods. "Yeah, I'm good. Um, we're trying to write new stuff, you know." He swallows and looks down at his boots. He doesn't even know where his band _is_ right now.

"Cool," Frank says. "They here?"

"Uh, no," Mikey says. "I'm with Ray. He's playing tonight."

Frank smiles. "Yeah, I know. Me and Dewees are going on before them, do a short thing."

"Cool," Mikey says. He sticks his hands in his pockets; he doesn't know what else to say. Frank seems, like, a million fucking worlds away from him right now.

"But hey," Frank asks. "What's your brother been up to?"

Mikey's stomach goes cold. "What?"

"Shit," Frank says. "Are you two still not talking? Sorry, I just thought—"

Mikey shakes his head. "No, I—we. Uh, yeah."

Frank lays a hand on his shoulder and says, "I'm really sorry I brought it up, dude."

Mikey swallows hard. "It's fine." Frank squeezes his shoulder and Mikey fights the urge to fidget away.

"Shit, I think I have to go," Frank says. "It was awesome that you could make it out, though. Maybe I'll catch you later?"

"Sure," Mikey says. Frank reaches up for another hug and then he's gone.

Mikey doesn't move, he just—tries to breathe, or something, Jesus fuck. What the fuck? Someone stumbles into him as they're trying to make it backstage and Mikey steps away, looking around the club. Ray's probably still backstage, too. He might come out to watch Death Spells from the crowd, but probably not.

Mikey shudders, and wraps his arms around himself. It must be like eighty degrees in the club and he's wearing a jacket, but he's still cold.

He makes his way to the very back of the club, finds a spot where he can still see the stage well enough, and leans against the wall.

He'd almost forgotten Ray's claims about how Mikey had a brother. Or he'd tried to forget, at least—had chalked it up to the weirdness of the day, had thought Ray had been playing some sort of weird mind-games. Because he _doesn't_ have a brother. It's a completely ridiculous thought.

But now Frank's mentioning him like it's not a big deal, and unless _he's_ in on it too then—but Ray wouldn't pull that kind of shit with him. Which means he believes Mikey has a brother and Frank does too, and everything is severely fucked.

Mikey squeezes his eyes shut and slaps his hand against the wall behind him. He'd know if he had a brother, but now when he tries to remember _anything_ that could possibly lead the guys to believe that he's not an only child, his brain sort of just—shuts down.

It doesn't fucking matter anyway. If he does have a brother then why hasn't he called in all the time Mikey has been at Ray's? Why wasn't he at the show that night? Obviously it isn't true.

He opens his eyes and is surprised to see Death Spells has taken the stage. Mikey didn't even hear them start playing. He stares at Frank and Dewees moving in sync, screaming into their microphones, and something in his belly twists. He should be up there. He _wants_ to be up there, he has a fucking _band_ and they're not here and he doesn't know if they'll ever perform again.

He considers heading to the bar to get a drink or three but the place is packed and he doesn't really feel like dealing with people right now. The crowd is kind of making him anxious.

So he leans back against the wall and watches Death Spells do their thing, while feeling jealous and angry, and fucking disappointed with the world.

None of this would have happened if they had just won. If Mikey had been good enough to help his band win.

By the time Death Spells finishes Mikey wants nothing more than to get out of there. But he promised Ray. And anyway, they came in Ray's car.

Ray's amazing on stage. He always has been, the entire time Mikey's known him, but it seems like every time he takes to the stage he's _better_. Mikey doesn't think there's a limit to how good Ray can get.

The band is tight, and the crowd responds with a ton of energy. Mikey's not sure if he's more jealous or pleased. Whichever it is, it feels better than before during Death Spells, so that's something.

Ray's fucking mesmerizing, so into the music. Mikey relaxes his shoulders and watches.

~

After the show Mikey shakes himself off and heads toward the stage door. He doesn't really want to hang out here any longer, and even if Ray does then maybe he'll at least help him find a ride back home.

He's still a couple of feet from the stage door when it opens and the band comes out.

"Mikey!" Ray calls, heading straight to him. He's flushed and sweating, his hair a fucking mess, and he's smiling so wide and looking right at Mikey.

Mikey stops and sucks in a breath. Holy fucking shit.

It's not like he never noticed Ray was attractive. But this is like—like getting hit with a fucking train or something. Holy shit.

When Ray reaches him and pulls him into a quick hug, Mikey can't help but cling. He buries his face in Ray's neck and breathes in deep—Ray smells of sweat and his laundry detergent and beer. His arms are solid around Mikey, and he's so fucking _warm_.

Ray pulls back, and Mikey reluctantly lets go. "What did you think?" Ray asks, still smiling. Mikey wants to kiss him. He _needs_ to kiss him, right now. What the fuck has he been thinking? He's liked Ray for ages, for _years_. He's wanted to kiss Ray for years.

His stomach's tight and he feels a little dizzy at the thought, knocked off balance. He doesn't know what just happened. He just knows he wants Ray.

"Mikey?" Ray asks, going from smiling to concerned in a second. "You okay?" He reaches out and takes Mikey's elbow.

Mikey swallows hard. "Can we go home now? I mean, back to your place? Please?"

Ray's face grows more serious, so Mikey steps forward and grasps his shoulder. Ray doesn't have his jacket, is only wearing a t-shirt, and he's so warm, and Mikey wants him so much.

"Mikey," Ray says slowly. "What's wrong?" He moves his hand from Mikey's elbow to his side. Mikey can't help it; he steps close and kisses him.

Ray's lips are soft and his chin is rough with stubble, and it's so fucking good. It gets even better when Ray wraps his arm around Mikey and kisses him back.

"Fuck," Ray says, pulling away. "Fuck, Mikey, are you sure?"

"Yes," Mikey says. "Yes, Ray, fuck yes. Let's go back to yours, okay?"

Ray reaches out and touches Mikey's cheek. His hand is sweaty—it makes Mikey shiver. Ray's eyes are dark, but that could just be the light.

"I have to pack up our stuff," Ray says.

"Can't someone else do it?" Mikey asks. He puts his hands on Ray's waist.

Ray's eyes widen, and then he's stepping away and taking hold of Mikey's wrist, pulling him along. He stops Brad and says, "Listen, I'm gonna go, okay? I'll get you all beers later. For, like, the next few times at least. Sorry."

Brad flicks his eyes to Mikey and then smirks at Ray. "Have fun."

Mikey kind of feels like growling and saying something, but he lets Ray pull him away and out of the club.

~

"Shit," Ray says. "Shit, Mikey, hold on."

Mikey steps back to pull Ray's jacket off, then goes back to kissing him. They had barely made it through the door when Mikey decided he couldn't wait any longer. Fuck waiting. He doesn't know why he spent so long doing it. How fucking stupid of him, when Ray was right here.

"Mikey," Ray says again, breaking the kiss. He's got his hands on Mikey's ass, which is fucking amazing. Ray's got amazing hands. "Wait."

Mikey pulls back, frowning. "Why?"

"I—can we at least make it to the bedroom?" Ray sounds out of breath.

"Yeah," Mikey says immediately. "Yeah, let's do that." He starts to step backwards, and almost stumbles over Bruce. Ray catches him before he falls and Bruce lets out an indignant yelp. "Shit," Mikey says. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Ray says, and then he's kissing Mikey again. Mikey makes a pleased involuntary noise, and kisses back.

"Thought we were going to the bedroom," he says, and wraps his arms around Ray's neck. He really likes Ray's shoulders too, fuck.

Ray breathes out slowly. "Yeah," he says, voice shaky. His eyes are so big. Mikey wants to bury his hands in Ray's hair and pull. He wants to know if Ray likes it as much as Mikey does.

"I want you to fuck me."

Ray's eyes go even wider, and his mouth falls open. "I—Mikey, are you sure?"

"Yes," Mikey says, and steps back. "Come on." He heads to the bedroom, and Ray follows.

Mikey turns and kisses Ray, then drops to the bed and pulls Ray with him. He should have done this years ago. He doesn't tell Ray that.

Ray's hands are on Mikey's hips and he's kissing him softly but firmly. His mouth is amazing. Fuck, every part of Ray is amazing.

"Please," Mikey says. "Please, please, Ray, I need you to fuck me."

Ray pulls back, just a little, and asks, "Are you absolutely sure you want this?"

Mikey nods quickly. "Yeah, dude. I'm not drunk or anything."

"That's not actually what I meant," Ray says, frowning. "But yeah, that's good, too."

"So do it," Mikey says. He pulls Ray's shirt off and flips them so he's straddling Ray instead. "I mean." Mikey pauses and swallows, looks down at Ray's chest. "If you want to? If you want to fuck me."

"Christ, Mikey," Ray says. "I really want to fuck you."

Mikey presses a kiss to Ray's chest, then moves to his nipple, teases it with his teeth. Ray lets out a gratifying moan. "Good," Mikey says. "Do it now."

"Okay," Ray says. "Okay, I—shit." He pulls Mikey up and kisses him. His hand's on Mikey's neck, and it's so _big_ , fuck, Mikey's so fucking ready for this.

"Come on, come on," Mikey says, and pulls back. "Where do you keep the stuff?" He reaches for the nightstand, but Ray catches his hand.

"Let me," Ray says, and his whole demeanor has suddenly changed; it's clear he's in control now.

Mikey lets out a shaky breath and sits back, giving Ray some space. Ray twists under him, and Mikey zones in on the way Ray's muscles stretch when he reaches for the condoms and lube. Mikey can't believe he forgot how badly he wants Ray.

When Ray turns back to Mikey he pauses, his eyebrows furrowing. "What?"

"Nothing," Mikey says, and kisses him. Ray moans under him and suddenly everything flips and Mikey's lying on his back on the bed, Ray above him. Oh, fuck yeah. "Yes," he says immediately, and wraps his arms around Ray's neck. "Come on, let's go."

Ray quirks his lip, and shakes his head. "You're really fucking impatient."

"Of course I am," Mikey says, and spreads his legs, hoping Ray gets the hint.

Ray's eyes go big, and he doesn't waste any more time, thank fuck. He takes his boxers off before pulling Mikey's briefs down, and uncaps the lube.

"I don't need a lot," Mikey says. "Like it when it's too much."

"Jesus fuck," Ray breathes out, and promptly slides two fingers in. Mikey keens and presses down on Ray's hand, wanting more. He's so fucking ready for this. "Easy, Mikey," Ray says, pulling his fingers half-out.

"No," Mikey gasps. "No, Ray, come on."

"I've got you," Ray says. It should sound completely ridiculous, but Ray says it like it's true. He slides his fingers in deep again and Mikey pushes down, fucking himself on Ray's fingers. It's not enough.

"More," Mikey says. "More, Ray, I really want your dick."

"Yeah?" Ray asks, and Mikey groans as he adds another finger. For one moment Mikey considers saying no, saying he wants Ray's fist instead, but he's not sure if Ray would go for that.

He pushes that aside and says, "Yes, yes, come on." His dick is hard and he moves his hand down to grab it, but Ray stops him, fingers wrapping around Mikey's wrist.

"Don't," Ray says. Mikey pulls back immediately and rests his hand on Ray's shoulder again, digs his nails in as Ray gives one last thrust before pulling his fingers out. Mikey gasps and Ray leans down to kiss him. His lubed up hand clutches Mikey's hip, wet and slippery, and Mikey would let Ray do _anything_ to him.

Ray finally breaks the kiss and pulls back, and Mikey keeps his eyes closed and just breathes. After a while, though, Ray still hasn't done anything, or even _touched_ him, and Mikey cracks one eye open and says, "Ray?"

Ray blinks at him, and quickly looks down. His face is kind of red, but that could just be the heat from the room, from them. Ray puts the condom on and slicks his cock up fast, and then he's leaning over Mikey, eyes serious. "You ready?"

"I was ready fucking ages ago," Mikey says, and Ray kisses him briefly before he positions himself and pushes in. Mikey almost cries out. He lifts his legs and tries to wrap them around Ray, tries to get him _closer_. Ray's all around him, his hair a mess, sticking out everywhere, his scent so strong, his skin warm and slick with sweat. When he starts fucking Mikey in earnest he leans in and kisses him and Mikey has no idea what to do or say or think.

Mikey always suspected that Ray was a sex god. It's nice to be right.

Ray fucks him until all Mikey can do is hold on tight to Ray's shoulders and cry out. The moment Ray wriggles his hand between them and wraps it around Mikey's dick he's coming, clinging to Ray.

It takes him a bit to become aware of things again—when he blinks his eyes open Ray has moved, and already has a washcloth in his hand. "Wait," Mikey says, confused. "Did you—" He lifts his hand and waves it around weakly.

Ray gives him a small grin. "Yeah, dude," he says. "I definitely did."

Mikey blinks. "Okay." He's not sure how the fuck he missed that. Next time he won't. He'll make sure of that; he'll pay _extra_ attention.

Ray gently cleans Mikey off and gets up. "You want water or anything?" Mikey shakes his head, and stretches out on the bed. He feels comfortable—tired and well-fucked.

"Okay," Ray says, and disappears into the bathroom. Mikey frowns, but Ray's not gone for long. He stops in front of the bed, and Mikey widens his eyes, trying to keep them from closing, and stares back at him. Ray's expression is weird and Mikey can't read it. He can feel his eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

The next time he blinks his eyes open Ray's lying next to him on the bed and the light is off.

Mikey turns on his side and burrows back against Ray. Ray throws his arm over Mikey, pulling him closer, and Mikey feels warm.

~

Mikey wakes to an empty bed. He frowns and pulls the blanket over his head, curling up. He's cold and Ray's not here. He's probably just making breakfast, but it still sucks.

Ray's bed is right next to the window, his bedroom on the east side of the building. (Mikey remembers waking up on the floor here one night after a party because sun hit him right in the eye. It must have been years back.) He kicks the covers off, sighing, then frowns when he realizes he can't see the sun from the window. It must be pretty late.

He pushes himself out of bed and trudges to the kitchen, where sure enough, Ray is sitting.

"Is there coffee?" Mikey asks.

Ray nods toward the machine and Mikey goes to pour himself a cup. He drinks half of it—it's not as hot as it could be, but it'll do—and only then realizes something's missing.

"No breakfast?"

"It's two in the afternoon," Ray says.

"Shit," Mikey says, and sits down next to him. "How long have you been up?"

"A couple of hours," Ray says. He's not looking at Mikey.

Mikey swirls the coffee around in his mouth and swallows. "What's up?"

Ray doesn't answer, just stares at his empty coffee cup.

"Do you want more?" Mikey asks. He feels off balance. He realizes he actually had expectations for this morning. Coffee, yes, but also breakfast, and Ray smiling at him like usual. And maybe even morning sex.

"Last night," Ray says, and Mikey freezes. Shit. He knows that tone of voice.

"Don't."

Ray looks up at him, and he is _not_ smiling, and it makes Mikey's stomach hurt. "I'm sorry," he says. "I just don't do casual."

Mikey swallows hard, and looks away. His mouth tastes awful all of a sudden. He doesn't know how to say that he doesn't either, because, well, usually it's a lie.

"So we shouldn't, okay?" Ray says. "I'm really sorry. Let's just forget it happened."

Mikey snorts. "Forget? Really?"

"Mikey," Ray says. It sounds weary. Like he's tired of Mikey. Mikey hates it.

"No, it's fine," Mikey says, getting up. "You want to forget about fucking me, I get it. Go the fuck ahead, I won't blame you."

"Mikey!" Ray says, voice taking on another tone, but Mikey doesn't fucking care.

"I'm going to take a shower," he says, and walks out, not giving Ray a chance to say anything else.

He cranks the water as hot as it will go. It still doesn't warm him up.

~

He decides to do just what Ray said and forget. There's no other way he can stay here, anyway, and he doesn't have anywhere else to go. His rent was due days ago, it's just a matter of time before his landlord dumps his stuff out on the street. He should probably go get it, but he just doesn't care.

He gets dressed in the bathroom after showering. He walks back out into the living room and Ray looks away quickly. Mikey frowns, then looks down and realizes he's wearing one of Ray's old t-shirts. Fuck. All he can do is sit on the couch and try to pretend like everything's fine.

"What do you want for dinner?" Ray asks.

Mikey shrugs. "Anything's fine." He thinks about mentioning that he can make it—he's been making them pasta most days—but if Ray's offering, then fine.

"Okay," Ray says. Mikey leans his head back against the couch and watches as Ray changes channels. "So hey," Ray says, and then doesn't say anything else.

"Yeah?" Mikey asks after a while. He looks over and sees Ray is fidgeting, like he sometimes gets when he doesn't want to talk about something. Or when he's hiding something. Mikey frowns. "What is it?"

"I called Gerard," Ray says.

Mikey blinks slowly. "Who?"

"Gerard," Ray says, turning towards Mikey. "Your brother, Gerard."

Fuck. Mikey shakes his head. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"I'm sorry," Ray says. "I just thought he should know."

"Know _what_?" Mikey asks. "You do realize I have no fucking clue who you're talking about, right?"

"Mikey," Ray sighs. He sounds like he's talking to a fucking child.

Mikey grits his teeth, turns and pulls his legs up as a barrier. "Fuck you. Fuck you, I told you, I don't have a brother."

"Look," Ray says, and he sounds angry now. "I don't know what the fuck your fucking _Master_ did to you but I have known you guys for _years_."

"I don't care," Mikey says. "You're not listening to me."

"Well, you're—" He cuts off, and sighs. "Okay. I'm sorry. Just, maybe we could call again and you could talk to him?"

"No!"

"Why not?" Ray asks.

"Because," Mikey says. "Because fuck you, I don't know why you're doing this."

"I just want to help," Ray says. "But okay, fine, I mean, you had your issues before this, so it's fine. We don't have to call him."

Mikey shakes his head. He wants to ask what issues, but he just can't deal with worrying about the problems he had with his made-up brother on top of all of this. Why the fuck is Ray even trying to interfere with his life?

"So what the fuck did he say, huh?" Mikey asks. "My imaginary fucking brother. What the fuck did he say?"

Ray's eyes grow soft with—what. Sympathy? Mikey needs to get out of here. "He said he's going to try to come here tomorrow."

Mikey scoffs and presses his hands to his eyes. "Sure. Right." He's shivering—shaking, more like it. Fuck.

"Mikey," Ray says. "You okay?"

Mikey wants to laugh, but he's not really sure if he can manage it right now. He feels more like crying, and he doesn't even fucking know _why_. He doesn't know why Ray's so insistent about this. He doesn't know why he can't remember having a brother.

"I'm gonna—" he starts, then stops to take a couple of deep breaths. "Shit, I have to—I can't be here right now. I'm gonna go." 

He gets up, but Ray follows him. "Mikey, wait," and fuck, he's coming towards Mikey like he wants to fucking hug him or something.

"Don't," Mikey growls. He can't deal with that right now. Ray touching him, after fucking rejecting him this morning, is the last thing he needs right now.

"Okay," Ray says. He obviously doesn't get it, but he's backing away, at least. "Okay. Do you need to get out or do you need me to leave?"

"I don't know," Mikey says. "I don't—"

"Because I need to walk Bruce anyway," Ray says. "And I can pick up dinner on the way, too. Is that okay?"

Mikey closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"Okay," Ray says. Mikey opens his eyes and watches Ray move through the apartment, get his keys and jacket. "Come on, Bruce." Mikey's vaguely impressed that Bruce didn't start barking at him at any point. Maybe the dog's tired of him, too. "If you need anything then call me, okay," Ray says.

Mikey nods and Ray pulls the door shut after him. Mikey sniffs and rubs at his eyes. Fuck, he's not even crying or anything, he's just—fuck. He's so fucking tired. He eyes the couch, but he'd have to unfold it and make it, and he doesn't know if he can do it now.

He looks towards Ray's bedroom and fuck, he probably shouldn't do this. Ray's "I don't do casual" is running through his head, but Ray's bed was warm, and all Mikey wants is a quick nap anyway. He'll be up before Ray comes back.

He takes off his jeans, keeps the shirt, and climbs into bed. It's not that warm now, not like last night, but it's big and the covers are soft. Mikey pulls the blanket over himself and nods off fast.

~

There's a stream of light hitting Mikey's face. He grumbles and pulls the covers over his head, but then he can't breathe. Fuck it.

He pokes his head out and blinks. That's not Ray's bedside lamp. That's the sun. What the fuck?

He crawls out of bed and stumbles out into the living room. Bruce is lying in front of the couch, and he perks up when he sees Mikey. It's obvious that Ray slept on the couch. Mikey stares at the blankets. Did he—but he was just going to take a quick nap. Did he sleep all through the night? Fuck.

He walks closer and notices his phone's on the coffee table and there's a paper under it.

It says, _Went to pick up Gerard from the train station. Sorry I didn't tell you yesterday. He texted late last night, didn't want to wake you. There's Chinese in the fridge. The waffles are under the plate, should still be warm. - Ray_

Well, fuck. Mikey leaves the note and checks his phone—no new messages. He wonders why Ray left it out. So Mikey'd call? It's nine in the fucking morning. He slept for more than sixteen hours.

The waffles are still warm. Mikey doesn't bother to check the fridge for the leftovers, just grabs a waffle and coffee. He drinks it slowly and breaks the waffle into small pieces. He's not actually hungry.

Ray went to get Gerard. At some point soon they'll walk into the apartment and this dude will expect Mikey to be his fucking brother, which really isn't going to work. He finishes his coffee and cracks his neck. He feels slightly sick, but a part of him is curious about this whole thing—the part that's keeping him from running away right now.

The other part is relieved as fuck when his phone rings and it turns out to be Jeff.

"Yo, boss," Jeff says. "We have a mission."

Mikey blinks. "What?"

"A mission from the Master." The call crackles; it sounds like Jeff's in a car. "So we're coming to get you."

"What?" Mikey asks. "What mission?"

"Dude, I'll tell you later. You're still at Toro's, right?"

"Yeah," Mikey says absentmindedly. A mission. He remembers Ray telling him he doesn't have to go the next time the Master calls.

Mikey clutches the phone tighter and says, "I thought the Master was angry at us."

"He said he'll forget about our mistakes if we succeed in this new mission."

"Right," Mikey says. He looks down at Bruce who's now curled up in front of the crouch, nose covered with his paw. He hasn't barked or growled at Mikey for a couple of days now.

"So get ready, boss," Jeff says. "Get your mask on. We'll be there in five."

Mikey bites his lip. "Okay."

Getting the suit back on is near impossible, but he does it. He leaves the mask off for now, just in case. He eyes his bag, his phone and wallet. He should probably take those, but what for? Who else is going to call? And does he even fucking need money now?

He packs them anyway. No point in leaving Ray to deal with any of his messes. He shoulders the bag and heads toward the door. Bruce gets up and follows.

Mikey stops and looks down at Bruce. He's staring up with a hopeful expression. "Sorry, dude," Mikey says. "You're gonna have to stay inside."

Bruce sits down and lets out a whine. Mikey looks away. "Bye, I guess," he says and opens the door.

~

The car's already waiting outside, Sam leaning against the driver's door and Jeff sitting on the roof.

"What the fuck?" Mikey asks.

"Dave and SkillSawz went to get Starbucks," Sam says, her voice flat.

Mikey scowls. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No," she snaps. "I'm not fucking kidding." She sounds tired. Mikey wonders if she even wanted to come. He wonders why he cares—if he cares.

He dumps his bag in the back. "So where are we going?"

"New York," Jeff says. "Master wants us there as fast as we can get."

"Why?"

"To fight the Aquabats."

Mikey swallows. "Oh." He crosses his arms and looks in the direction of the Starbucks. No sight of Dave and SkillSawz yet.

Ray could come back any second now. With Mikey's so-called brother.

There's a part of him that wants to stick around, to say he's not going with the rest of the AntiBats—his band, he means his band. He pushes that down. It isn't as easy as he thought it'd be. He doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.

"Finally," Jeff says. Dave and SkillSawz are rushing toward the car, cups in hand. Sam gets in the car, and Jeff jumps down from the roof and gets in the passenger seat. "Hurry up, you fools."

"Mikey!"

Shit. Mikey's turning towards the voice before he can stop himself. It's Ray. He hasn't even parked his car, has left it right in front of the building door. It'll get in the way of the elderly couple who live downstairs, Mikey thinks idly.

There's a dark-haired dude in front of Ray, rushing towards Mikey. He's wearing jeans and an old leather jacket. Mikey doesn't recognize him.

"Mikey!" the guy calls out. "Wait, please." His voice isn't what Mikey expected. He didn't know he was expecting anything.

"Boss, come on," Dave calls. SkillSawz is holding the door open for him, looking confused.

"Mikey!" the guy calls again. He's almost reached their car, reached Mikey. His hair's a mess and his shirt is dirty and his eyes are wide and scared. He says Mikey's name like he's been saying it forever. But that doesn't mean anything.

"I'm sorry," Mikey says, and thinks he feels it. "But I've never met you before in my life."

He jumps in the car. SkillSawz pulls the door closed after him and they take off.

~

They're approaching the rendezvous point when Jeff says, "Get your masks on, guys."

Mikey pulls his mask on and briefly wonders why it's Jeff they all listen to though they call Mikey the boss. Does that mean he at least gets veto power? Maybe he could tell them all to turn around. Technically they're all here because of him, because he couldn't lead them to win a stupid contest, and if any of them get hurt then that'll be on him, too. His fault.

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus. Except that doesn't work at all and when he closes his eyes he sees Ray's face, smiling at him, telling Mikey he doesn't have to do this. That he wants Mikey.

He remembers the guy Ray brought—Gerard. Mikey's brother. The guy obviously knew Mikey. And he wanted him to stay, no matter what troubles they'd had before.

But that doesn't matter because Mikey doesn't remember him, and Mikey's not good enough for Ray. So there was no point in staying.

The car screeches to a halt and Mikey almost bangs his head against the seat in front of him.

"It's time," Sam says. Mikey looks around—they're in what looks like a closed off parking lot. Silver Skull is standing near their car, looking—well, like he always looks. The guy doesn't really have any facial expressions.

He gives them weapons this time, ones that shoot lasers, and Mikey doesn't know why he's _here_ , but he can't turn back now.

The Aquabats roll up after a bit, acting like their usual ridiculous selves, and then it's on. Mikey just tries to aim for their feet and shoot as seldom as he can get away with. It seems like the rest of the AntiBats have the same idea.

"Look," the one with the mustache calls out during a brief lull. "We don't actually want to fight you."

He says it slowly, like he's talking to a bunch of kids, but other than that Mikey shares the sentiment. He just wants this over with. Then he'll go and find some place to stay because it's obvious they're not getting the band back together after this. Maybe he'll move to Chicago.

"We are willing to put our weapons down," another Aquabat says.

"Don't listen to them," Silver Skull says. "This ends now! And then I'll have world domination!" Mikey frowns. Most of the Aquabats have their weapons pointed at Silver Skull, but they're looking at the AntiBats.

"Maybe we should just give up," Mikey hears SkillSawz say.

"Yeah, fuck this," Sam says from Mikey's side. Mikey completely agrees. He might be evil but he doesn't actually want to kill people _or_ world domination.

"Just put the guns down," the Aquabat leader calls.

Mikey looks down at his weapon and is about to throw it to the ground when there's a yell, the sound of something tearing and a bright pain in his shoulder. He's on the ground before he realizes what happened.

"They shot him!" someone's yelling. The voice is loud and cruel. "They shot him, fight back!"

There's a lot of noise, and then someone's dragging Mikey, pulling him away from the middle of the scene. He doesn't understand what's happening.

"What?" he tries to ask, but it hurts too much.

"He got hit in the shoulder," someone calls out from right above him. Sam. Then there's the sound of people running and pressure on his shoulder, so painful Mikey cries out. He can't move, and everything hurts and he doesn't know what's happening.

"Shh, it's okay," someone says, and Mikey opens his eyes. The face is familiar, but Mikey can't place it right now. He closes his eyes again, but the pressure on his shoulder increases, and he can't help but scream until he's crying.

"It's okay," the same person says and touches his face. His hands are so warm. "It's okay, Mikey. It's gonna be okay. Ray has to keep pressure on the wound, okay? The ambulance is coming."

"What?" Mikey tries to ask again, but all that comes out is a sob.

"You're gonna be fine," the guy says. He sounds choked up, like he's crying. "I promise, you're gonna be okay."

Mikey opens his eyes. "Gerard?"

Of course it's Gerard, kneeling over Mikey, his face the only thing Mikey can see.

"Yeah," Gerard says. "Yeah, Mikey, it's me."

"It hurts," Mikey says, because it does, and he's scared. But Gerard is here.

"I know," Gerard says. "But we'll take care of you, and the ambulance will be here right away and you'll be fine. Ray's going to make sure you don't bleed all out, okay? That's why it hurts so bad."

"Ray?" Mikey asks.

"Right here," Ray says, and Mikey wants to cry.

"It's okay," Gerard says, repeating it over and over. He wipes at Mikey's face, wipes away his tears. "You'll be fine."

"I'm tired," Mikey says. It feels like his shoulder's burning, but the rest of him is cold, always cold. At least Gerard's hands are warm. "Gee."

"I'm here," Gerard says. He kisses Mikey's cheek. Mikey closes his eyes.

~

Mikey blinks. A white clean ceiling. Not Ray's place. He turns his head and his shoulder twinges painfully. Right. A hospital.

"Hey," someone says. There's the sound of a chair being dragged closer and then Gerard's in his line of vision.

Mikey blinks again. His eyelids feel heavy. "Hi."

"How do you feel?" Gerard's looking at him, face intent. He has light brown stripes in his hair.

"Your hair looks different," Mikey says.

Gerard's hand automatically goes to his hair. "Yeah," he says. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," Mikey says. He thinks about it. "Kinda sore."

"Yeah," Gerard says. His expression is grim.

"What happened?"

Gerard breathes in deep, then shrugs. "Silver Skull shot you and tried to frame the Aquabats. To get your band to fight for you."

"Oh." Shit. "Did they?"

"They tried. The Bats got it under control fast."

"Okay," Mikey says. He remembers now, the pain in his shoulder, Gerard kneeling over him, Ray by his side. The battle. "Am I under arrest?" he asks.

"No," Gerard says fast. "No, none of you are. Just Silver Skull. They're not pressing charges."

"Why?" It doesn't make any sense.

"You weren't completely in control of your actions," Gerard says. "You were—" He waves his hand. "Brainwashed."

"It wasn't like that." Mikey knew what he was doing. Mostly. When he was away from Silver Skull, at least. Then he knew. He just didn't really care.

Gerard nods thoughtfully. "You didn't do that much damage, though. No one—no one else got hurt."

"Okay," Mikey says. He's not actually trying to talk himself into getting arrested. But he needs to figure out that whole mind control thing, at some point.

Gerard says, "We can talk about that later. You should rest." He sits up a little. His eyes are intent on Mikey. It makes Mikey feel a bit uncomfortable, but he can tell there's something else Gerard wants to say.

"What?"

Gerard sighs, and makes a face. He looks unsure. "Ray said you didn't remember me," he says. "When he called. And then when you saw me this morning—"

"I didn't," Mikey says, realizing. "I didn't remember you."

He tries to take a breath but it's like there's something stuck in his throat.

"Hey," Gerard says, and scoots closer. "Hey, whoa, Mikes. Just breathe."

Mikey gulps in a breath and struggles to sit up.

"Easy," Gerard says, and helps him sit up and lean against the pillows.

"I couldn't remember you. You were just _gone_." There had been nothing. Even when Ray brought Gerard up and Mikey tried to reach out, there was nothing, like a wall in his head but with no promise of anything behind it.

"It's okay," Gerard says, and touches Mikey's hand. "I'm here now, right?" He takes Mikey's hand in his and gives him a gentle smile.

Mikey nods, and takes a deep breath, then another. Gerard doesn't pull away. "But why?" Mikey asks. "Why couldn't I remember?"

"We'll figure it out," Gerard says. "It must have been because of whatever that evil ray did."

"You know about that?"

"Ray told me."

"Where is Ray?" Mikey asks, looking around.

"He got called into work," Gerard says. "He didn't want to go," Gerard adds. "He was camped out here with me."

"Okay," Mikey says. It's a nice thought, Ray staying here for him. And, well, he probably saved Mikey's life. Even after Mikey disappointed him and then ran off. He shifts a little and winces. Fuck.

"You okay?"

"Fine," Mikey bites out. "Just got shot in the shoulder."

Gerard's face falls and Mikey feels like shit. He didn't mean to be so snappy.

"Sorry," he says, and means it. "It doesn't hurt that bad."

"It was a stupid question," Gerard says. He usually doesn't admit that. It's a weird day.

"What did the doctors say?" Mikey asks. "How bad's the damage?" Will it heal enough that he can play again, he doesn't ask.

"Not too bad," Gerard says, sitting back. "The wound's not as bad as it looked. And you didn't lose a lot of blood; ray gun, you know. They want to keep you in for a bit, but I think they said you can leave tomorrow and get better at home."

"Oh," Mikey says, thrown. He's not really sure where home is right now.

"I think you should come back to my place," Gerard says. "That way you'll be here in the city for checkups and stuff, you know?"

"Right," Mikey says. It makes sense.

"And also because I really don't want to let you out of my sight right now," Gerard says, more quietly. Mikey blinks and looks away. Apparently he can't be trusted now. The worst is that he can't really argue with that.

"I'm not gonna go back to Silver Skull," he says. "Or try to break him out of jail or whatever. Whatever mind-control it was, it's gone now." He's sure of that. Back before, it hadn't felt like he could disobey the Master, not _really_ disobey him. But right now he just hates the guy, and he's sure, almost completely sure, that if he called Mikey wouldn't go. He'd go anywhere else.

"What?" Gerard asks. Mikey rolls his eyes. "Hey, no," Gerard says, reaching out and touching Mikey's forearm. "Mikes, that's not what I mean."

Mikey looks over and frowns. "Then what?"

"You got hurt," Gerard says, his voice sounding thin. "Fuck, there was blood, and you were _hurt_ and in _pain_ , and I thought you were going to _die_."

Mikey swallows hard. "Oh. Sorry."

Gerard laughs, unexpected and loud. It sounds raw. "Don't apologize for that, you dick."

Mikey shrugs, but that hurts. "Ow."

"Hey." Gerard reaches for the call button, finger hovering. "Maybe they should give you more painkillers."

"No," Mikey says. "This is fine. It's not that bad." He yawns. Gerard's smiling at him when he blinks his eyes open again.

"You should rest," Gerard says. Mikey nods and Gerard helps him lie down again.

"Gerard?" Mikey asks.

"Yeah?"

Even though they haven't seen each other in months and a part of Mikey's still angry at Gerard, bitter and scared, he can't help but ask, "Are you gonna stay till I fall asleep?"

Gerard is silent for a while. Mikey doesn't open his eyes. He's afraid he'll find no one there, and it's all in his head. That there's nothing.

Then there's a brush of fingers against his cheek. "I will," Gerard says. "And I'll be here when you wake up. Promise."

Mikey breathes in deep and sleeps.

~

Gerard's apartment is weird and kind of small. It's weird in a very Gerard way, which is familiar. It's small but it's bigger than Ray's, and has a guest bedroom, but that's really it. And Mikey can't stay in that room forever. For one thing, there's only one bathroom.

He's been holed up in bed for two days now, though. Gerard probably only lets him get away with it because Mikey's wounded. At least Mikey hopes that's the reason. It'd suck if it was just that Gerard didn't care.

But Gerard works on his comics, in his own bedroom-slash-office, and Mikey sits around or reads, or paces around when he can't stay still anymore and lies back down when his shoulder starts hurting too much, and doesn't text Ray. Gerard does peek in sometimes and check up on him, asking how his shoulder is and if he needs help with anything. But that's it.

His band contacted him right after he got out of the hospital, wishing him a good recovery and saying they had picked up all his stuff from his place. They were good people, after all. Mikey should go and get his things at some point, but for that he'd have to talk to Gerard, so. It can wait.

He feels bad about ignoring Gerard, but whenever he tries to go and say hi or something, Gerard's not in the living room or in the kitchen, and Mikey quietly retreats back to his own bedroom. It makes his chest feel tight every time, but he doesn't know what to do.

It's the third day when Gerard knocks on Mikey's door and says, "Mikey? I ordered pizza, you hungry?" (They've avoided eating together, too. It's been weird.)

Mikey sticks a bookmark between the book he stole from Gerard's library and gets up, wincing at his shoulder. His arm's in a sling to keep him from tearing shit; it's fucking annoying.

Gerard's eating on the couch, carefully flicking through channels.

"I got pepperoni for you," he says, not looking up, but Mikey can tell he's paying attention, and when Mikey sits down and grabs a slice he can feel Gerard's gaze on him.

Mikey frowns at the pizza. "Half veggie?"

"Oh, yeah," Gerard says. "I'm trying a new thing."

"Huh," Mikey says. His stomach twists weirdly.

Gerard finds a channel that's showing _Batman_ and they eat in silence, finishing off most of the pizza. Mikey only has two pieces—he's not really hungry.

"I haven't really seen you," Gerard says, turning to Mikey after he's done. When Mikey doesn't respond he adds quietly, "Actually thought you had left a couple of times."

Mikey narrows his eyes. "Didn't you say you weren't going to let me out of your sight?"

Gerard blanches. "I thought I should give you space."

Mikey sighs and leans his head back against the couch. "I know. I was avoiding you, too."

Gerard nods. "It's weird. I get that. But I think we should talk?"

Mikey's not sure what part he thinks is weird, but it really can't stay like this. Or, well, it could, and Mikey could get better and leave and not see Gerard again for so many months. He wants to do it, just run. But he's tired, and he missed his stupid brother, so if Gerard wants to talk he can listen.

Gerard doesn't start with the topic Mikey had assumed. "Do you want to talk about the evil thing?"

"Huh," Mikey says. "Maybe? I don't know."

"You don't have to," Gerard says quickly.

Mikey thinks about it. He would actually like to discuss it with someone, but— "Do you want to know how I felt about it or just what the whole being shot with an evil ray was like?"

Gerard's face clouds over. "Fuck you. You know I care about you."

"Really?" Mikey asks, but he shakes his head before Gerard can answer. He doesn't actually want to fight now. Besides, he does know. Things may have gotten tense and fucked up between them, but Mikey never _really_ doubted that Gerard loved him. It was maybe a brother thing. Or just a them thing.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I just thought maybe it'd help," Gerard says.

Mikey sighs. Of course Gerard thinks that, he fucking _loves_ to talk about what's going on in his head. He used to do that with Mikey. Mikey wonders who he goes to talk to now. Gerard's always been able to find people who will listen to him, though.

"It was weird," Mikey says, slowly, thinking back. He's thought more about the shit he did while he was, whatever, evil or something, but not really how it _felt_. "It was like there was something hurting in the pit of my stomach. Just, constantly." He hadn't even noticed it until it had suddenly gone away.

Gerard makes a worried sound. Mikey looks at him; he's gazing back at Mikey, his face open once more.

"And cold," Mikey says, remembering. "I was always cold. I thought it was just, like, I was getting sick or Ray's place had a breeze or something."

Gerard frowns. "What about now?"

Mikey looks down at his bare forearm. "It's better." He's always been prone to getting cold easily, but Gerard has the heat up and Mikey feels warm here.

"Good," Gerard says. "So were you, like, really evil?"

Mikey shrugs. "I don't know." He remembers being really pissed off and angry, and unsure and scared. "What is evil?"

Gerard's eyes widen. Shit, Mikey just gave him an opening.

"That's a really interesting question, actually," Gerard says, but Mikey holds up his hand.

"Don't," he says. "Not now. I was an asshole, okay, and I'm—sorry. I should apologize to Ray for being so shitty."

"Being an asshole doesn't make you evil," Gerard says.

"I know," Mikey says. "Just—I can't think about this right now."

"Okay," Gerard says, with the tone that says "I will bring this up later after I've come up with a proper speech". Mikey knows that tone. "But the mind control?"

"I don't know." Mikey shakes his head. "I didn't exactly feel like I had to do everything Silver Skull said, you know? Just—he was kind of our leader, so it was better to obey. I don't think he messed with our minds that much."

"But you didn't remember me," Gerard says. He sounds kind of hurt about it.

"I didn't," Mikey says slowly. "I don't know what that was about. The first time Ray brought you up I thought he was messing with me."

"That's so weird," Gerard says. "Do you think Silver Skull made you forget about me?"

"Probably," Mikey says. He just doesn't know why.

"But it's all there now, right? Your memories didn't go away and like come back with some missing? What did I get for my 8th birthday?"

"A Transformer," Mikey says. "And I broke it. No, I remember it all. It was like there was a wall, I think. But it's gone now."

"Good," Gerard says. "Fuck, Mikey, I was so fucking scared."

Mikey looks over, surprised. "Because I couldn't remember you?"

"You said you'd never seen me before in your life," Gerard says. "And then you drove away and we didn't know where you were going and then you got _hurt_."

"But I'm fine." His shoulder still hurts, but it's healing pretty well, he thinks. And he's not dead or anything.

Gerard shakes his head and looks down at his hands. "Ray said—he said he'd thought about trying to talk to you about you and me?" Mikey frowns. "To jog your memory," Gerard explains. "But like. He didn't know what had happened between us."

"Yeah," Mikey says slowly, when it's clear Gerard's waiting for him to speak.

Gerard nods and says, "And then I started thinking and I couldn't remember, you know? Not really? And even if I did remember my version—then I didn't know how you felt."

Mikey sighs. "Gerard." He doesn't know if he's up to talking about this right now.

"No, listen, okay? What if you forgot about me because you wanted to forget about me?"

"No," Mikey says immediately.

"But what if—"

"No." Mikey pulls up his knees and wraps his arm around them. "I wanted to forget what happened. I tried to ignore it. But I didn't want to forget you, that wasn't it."

"But you moved away," Gerard says.

Mikey looks at him, eyebrows raised. " _You_ moved to New York."

"That's not so far," Gerard says. "You went halfway across the state. It's like you wanted to forget I ever existed."

Mikey grits his teeth. "That wasn't it," he says.

"Are you sure?" Gerard asks. "Because that's what it seemed like."

"Fuck you," Mikey says quietly. "You have no idea what it felt like."

Gerard pauses, seeming thrown. "What felt like?"

"Not remembering," Mikey says. "This whole fucked up thing. It felt like there was _nothing_. Like I had nothing. Like there never had been anything and there wasn't ever going to be, so what was the point?"

"Mikey," Gerard says, reaching out, but Mikey shrugs away.

"It wasn't that bad when Ray was around. But when he was out, or when I was an ass and he pulled away, or when anyone ever brought you up, even when they _swore_ you existed, I didn't believe them. And when I saw you and didn't remember you then—" He pauses and swallows hard. His throat feels weird. Fuck this, he's not going to cry. He doesn't know how to describe it, to make Gerard understand. "It was so fucking cold."

"Mikey," Gerard says, and touches Mikey's shoulder. "Mikey, it's okay. Come here?"

Mikey uncurls, lowers his legs and Gerard pulls him in for a hug. It's a little awkward, with the sling and all, but Gerard holds him tight and it feels—nice.

"I guess we know now why he'd make you forget," Gerard says. "If it made you feel like _that_."

Mikey frowns, thinking about it. "Nothing to lose. And angry." And sad.

"I'm sorry," Gerard says.

"For what?" Mikey asks, pulling back.

"For moving, I guess? I'm not sure. I never really figured it out. Can you tell me?"

Mikey looks at him. He looks different. Not older, just different. Mikey missed him, a lot. 

"Why didn't you ask me to come with you?"

Gerard looks surprised. "But you liked Jersey. You had friends, and a job, and you wanted to start a band."

"I wanted to start a band with _you_ ," Mikey says. "I was waiting for you to come home." He remembers counting the days when Gerard was in art school. And then everything got supremely fucked up and Gerard went into rehab and Mikey was so proud of him for doing that. But he still thought Gerard would come back to him. It was selfish, probably. That just made him feel guilty on top of the hurt.

"I didn't—I had to take the opportunity," Gerard says. "With the comic."

"I know," Mikey says, because he does. "But you never—I thought you'd want me to come with you. And then you didn't ask, and I realized I had to do this without you. And I was angry, I guess."

"So you moved away," Gerard says, sighing. "Fuck. I don't know, Mikey, I didn't know what I was doing. I was afraid. I didn't want to drag you with me."

Mikey shrugs and hugs himself. "You could have asked."

"And you could have talked to me," Gerard says.

"Yeah." Mikey looks away. He doesn't know what else to say.

"I missed you too," Gerard says, after a while. "A fuck-ton. I just didn't know if you wanted to talk to me, especially after that fight at Thanksgiving."

Mikey barely remembers that one. He'd blown up over something stupid, like who had to clean up the dishes or something. Things had been so fucked up, and Gerard had left that night.

"I'm sorry," Mikey says. "I fucked it up."

"You didn't," Gerard says. "We both did, okay. But we can fix it." He rubs Mikey's shoulder, then moves his hand to Mikey's hair. "You should do something with this."

Mikey snorts. "Shut up."

Gerard grins at him. "I'm just saying, I think it could use a trim."

"Whatever," Mikey says. "Maybe." He sighs and leans his head back against the couch. "I don't know what to do now. I have to get my stuff from Dave at some point. I didn't pay my rent so I guess I got kicked out."

"You're still hurt," Gerard says. "And you don't have to figure it out right now, you know I'm not going to kick you out."

Mikey snorts. "Yeah."

"So it's okay?" Gerard asks. "Right?"

Mikey nods. He still feels shitty about some things, but at least now he knows that Gerard didn't plan on leaving him behind. He just has to figure out his own feelings about it all.

"I think I'm gonna go read until I fall asleep," Mikey says, getting up. He's not as tired as he was back at Ray's, but it's a different kind of exhaustion. Probably because of the shoulder.

"Okay," Gerard says softly. "Sleep well. And—Mikes?"

Mikey stops at the door and looks back. "Yeah?"

"I—" He seems to change his mind, pauses, and says instead, "I talked to the Aquabats. Half of them said they voted for your band. It was a misunderstanding. But they liked you."

Mikey blinks. "Huh." He's not sure how that makes him feel. In the end it doesn't really change anything.

"I wish I could have seen it," Gerard says. "I'm sure you were great."

Mikey quirks his lips up. "Thanks."

"Next time, okay?" Gerard says.

"Sure," Mikey agrees. "Definitely."

Gerard smiles at him.

~

It's a couple of days later when Mikey can't stand staring at his phone any longer. Ray sent him a text the day he got out of the hospital, saying he hoped Mikey would feel better soon. Mikey didn't reply then, and he didn't reply the day after, and by now it's far too late to reply.

Which is how he ends up blurting out, "I have to go to Ray's," during dinner in front of the TV with Gerard.

Gerard turns to him, eyebrows furrowed, a fork halfway to his mouth.

"I'll come back here," Mikey says. "I mean—"

"You should," Gerard says, earnest, and stuffs a piece of lettuce in his mouth. "I mean. There's room, you know." He pauses, and swallows. "I mean, there's always room for you."

Mikey chases a cucumber slice in his bowl. "I know."

"Are you sure you're good enough to travel, though?" Gerard asks. "We could invite him here, I'm sure he'd come."

Mikey shakes his head. "I should go to him. It's kind of—it's that kind of thing."

"Is it?" Gerard asks, sounding curious.

"I kinda hooked up with him," Mikey admits.

"Oh," Gerard says. "Because of the..."

Mikey shakes his head. "No. Not because of that."

"Yeah," Gerard says, smiling a little. "I figured." His face grows more serious, and he says, "Just checking again, though. You _did_ know what you were doing at the time?"

Mikey frowns. "Yeah," he says. "Of course I did."

Gerard nods. "Good. Okay."

"And it was better around Ray, anyway," Mikey says. "It felt more—I felt better. Less evil, I guess?"

"More connected," Gerard says. "With people you liked and who cared about you."

"Y—yeah," Mikey says, looking down.

Gerard bumps his shoulder, and leans forward to set his bowl on the table. Mikey thinks idly that they should get pizza again tomorrow. He's getting tired of salad—they've been eating it for days, since Gerard found a new recipe he wanted to try out.

"So," Gerard says. "You're going to go over and—"

Mikey raises his eyebrow. "What, you want to know the details?"

"No!" Gerard says immediately. "No, fuck, shut up." He covers his hand with his eyes and Mikey laughs.

"What the fuck _were_ you asking, then?"

"I just meant if you guys were gonna get together," Gerard says voice strained. " _Not_. Not like that, shut up. Boyfriend shit. Something. Holding hands." He lets out a deep breath and whispers to himself, "Holding hands. Okay," lowers his hand and turns back to Mikey. "So? Do you want to hold hands with Ray?"

"Shut up," Mikey says. He can feel his face heating up, which is so fucking unfair. Fucking Gerard.

"You do," Gerard sing-songs, beaming. Mikey wants to come back with something that will make Gerard cover both his eyes and ears, but now he's just thinking about how fucking sweet Ray; how great his smile is. Mikey's always liked Ray's smile. "Mikey?" Gerard asks.

"He's really great, you know?" Mikey says quietly.

"I know," Gerard says. "I remember we had the same conversation one night when you were drunk off your ass. It was cute."

Mikey looks away, but Gerard reaches out and touches his knee. "Hey. He really likes you. I won't even have to give him the big brother talk, you know."

Mikey shrugs and wraps his arms around himself. "You think? I mean, he said he didn't do casual, and—you think he actually likes me? Really?" He hates how insecure he sounds, but the thought is just...but Gerard wouldn't lie. 

And when Mikey thinks about it logically then it'd make sense for Ray to say that, assuming _Mikey_ thought it was a casual thing. A part of him probably even knew it back then; it was just hard not to jump to the worst conclusions.

"Of course he does." Gerard scoffs. "He'd be stupid not to."

Mikey gives him a look. "That doesn't actually prove anything."

"He likes you," Gerard says. "Does that prove anything?"

Mikey shrugs. "Maybe." But he can feel a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Gerard grins at him and wraps an arm around his shoulder.

It feels the slightest bit awkward, still. But it's getting better every day.

~

Ray opens the door on the second knock. His eyes go wide, but then he smiles. "Mikey!"

"Hey." Mikey sticks a hand in his pocket. The other is still in a sling, hanging awkwardly. It sucks. "Uh, can I come in?"

"Of course," Ray says, stepping back. Mikey shuffles into the room, and Bruce immediately runs up to him.

"Bruce, don't bother him," Ray says.

Bruce is barking, but in a happy way, and wagging his tail. Mikey missed the little brat. He considers crouching down to pet him, but he's a bit tired from the ride and his balance isn't the best, what with the sling and all.

Ray closes the door behind him and asks, "Where's Gerard?"

"Back in the city."

Ray frowns. "You took the train here?"

Mikey shrugs. "Yeah." (Gerard had offered to drive him, but Mikey reminded him he doesn't have a car. Gerard had looked kind of sheepish, and Mikey had sighed and promised him he wouldn't disappear. Gerard had looked even more sheepish, but he'd pulled Mikey in for a tight hug.)

"Are you feeling better?" Ray says. "Do you want anything? Water?"

"No, I'm good," Mikey says. He's a bit thirsty, but he doesn't want to take the excuse to put off the conversation any longer. He has a speech planned. It's short, but it's something.

"You sure?" Ray asks. "How's the shoulder?"

"Better," Mikey says. "The sling is just so I won't move it and rip anything, you know? But it doesn't really hurt anymore."

"Good," Ray says, sounding relieved. "I was gonna come see you. But I wasn't sure if you wanted me there?"

Mikey frowns. "I did," he says.

Ray's face falls. "Shit, I'm sorry, I should have come."

"No," Mikey says. "No, that's not what I meant. I mean, I would have liked if you had come, but. I don't blame you. For not being sure."

"Oh," Ray says, frowning. "Okay."

This isn't going in the right direction. "I wanted to talk to you about something," Mikey says.

"Okay," Ray says again, and nods. "Let's go sit?"

"No," Mikey says, and Ray stops and looks back. "Wait, okay."

"Sure," Ray says. He's so fucking _nice_. "What is it?"

Mikey shifts on his feet. "I don't want—" He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I don't want casual, either."

"Oh," Ray says slowly, eyebrows drawn together. Then his eyes go big and he repeats, "Oh!" Mikey bites the inside of his mouth and waits for Ray to say anything else, but he doesn't.

"So," Mikey says. He shifts again.

"Okay," Ray says. "So what you mean is that you..."

Mikey blinks. "I—I like you? I want to date you? If you want to, I mean. I don't know." He imagined this part going a bit differently. He expected Ray to get it immediately, since it was kind of obvious and all. Or maybe it was just obvious to Gerard. Mikey had been hiding it for years, after all.

"Wow," Ray says. "So it wasn't just...evil-you?"

Mikey shrugs. "I guess evil-me has more guts." That's one way of putting it, at least. Probably evil-him just didn't care about the consequences that much, didn't have that part that was holding Mikey back, looking out for him.

"You were afraid?" Ray frowns. "Of what?"

"That you'd say no," Mikey says. "That you didn't like me. Fuck, I thought I didn't have a chance in hell with you."

He wraps his free arm around his middle; he didn't really mean to say so much, but he figured he at least owes Ray the truth. (Plus Gerard did have a whole speech about good and evil and being honest and being the best you can be. Some of it stuck, apparently.)

"Wow," Ray says. "But you're—you."

Mikey raises his eyebrows. "I know?"

"That's not what I meant," Ray says. "I mean—fuck, Mikey, I _really_ like you."

Mikey pauses. "Oh. Really?"

"Yeah," Ray says, smiling hesitantly. "I've kind of had a thing for you for years."

Mikey bites his lip and looks down. "Me too," he says quietly.

Ray steps closer and touches Mikey's elbow. "I never thought—I mean, you're. _You_. I didn't think you'd go for a guy like me, and I thought, you know, I just like being your friend, too. And then we fucked and I thought that I couldn't do that if you just. Well, I thought you—weren't serious. Why didn't you say anything then?"

Mikey shrugs. "I was kind of fucked up. And I don't know, I guess I thought you meant it was casual for _you_."

Ray frowns. "That makes no sense."

"I know," Mikey says. "Fucked up," he reminds Ray. "Still kind of scared. Stuff."

"Well," Ray says. "It's good we figured it out, then."

Mikey laughs. "Yeah," he says, smiling. "Fucking finally."

Ray stares at him for a moment, eyes wide, and then he leans forward and kisses Mikey. It's a sweet kiss, and even though Ray's smiling as well and it doesn't last long, it makes Mikey feel so warm, hot all over and happy.

"Fuck," Ray breathes out. "Fuck, Mikey, I've missed your smile."

Mikey blinks. "Oh."

Ray grins wider and pulls Mikey into a hug, squeezes him tight but still mindful of Mikey's arm. Mikey rests his chin on his shoulder and sighs. It's really fucking nice.

"So," Ray says, pulling back. "What are you gonna do now?"

"Do?"

Ray shrugs. "Like, are you going back to your band or your apartment or—"

"Oh, that," Mikey says. "I think I might stay with Gerard for a bit."

"You guys made up?" Ray asks, smiling.

Mikey shuffles his feet. "Yeah," he says. "I mean—well, yeah. I don't think he wants me to leave just yet."

"Yeah, I wouldn't either," Ray says. He frowns. "I mean. I. Yeah."

Mikey smiles. "But I think I'll stay here for the night. If that's okay?"

"Duh," Ray says, and gives him another quick kiss. Mikey blushes and looks down. Fuck, leave it to Ray to make him feel awkward.

"Good," he says. "The train station is too far away."

"I can give you a lift," Ray says. "I have a lot of time tomorrow anyway. Band practice was canceled." He makes a face and Mikey frowns.

"What's up with that?"

Ray sighs. "Brad quit, so we need a new bass player."

Mikey pauses. "Huh."

"Yeah," Ray says sadly. "Well, whatever. We'll worry about it later. Do you want anything to eat?"

"Sure," Mikey agrees. He follows Ray into the kitchen and as soon as he sits down, Bruce jumps into his lap.

"Whoa," Mikey says, and scratches behind his ears. "Hey, boy."

"He really missed you," Ray says, smiling. Mikey grins up at him. 

"I missed him too," he says. Bruce lets out a content sigh and curls up in his lap. Mikey leans back and enjoys the warmth.


End file.
